Loss of Self
by Sheograph
Summary: They are both in precarious positions. The stress of her job makes her drink too much lyrium. And him...he just can't keep his mouth shut. Two-shot, implied Meredith/Orsino
1. Tranquil

Tranquil

Orsino felt absolutely nothing.

There was nothing wrong with that, of course. Passing his days this way could not exactly be called contentment but it certainly was not unpleasant. The duties he performed on a daily basis were mostly the same, managing paperwork, reading books and writing magical theses on the research he did. He remembered distinctly that he had always hated the tedious record keeping that his position as First Enchanter had necessitated. Now, with the loss of his position and his connection to the Fade, he had all the same paperwork but he did not hate it at all. It was there. Why not do it?

Likewise, he did not enjoy reading books anymore but he could still find them remotely interesting. He had always possessed a fierce lust for more knowledge and he remembered that too. It was easier to continue his old habit of rapidly consuming literature. He preferred it to paperwork, at any rate, if he really had to state a preference. Reading was better than paperwork, paperwork was better than nothing and nothing was so much better than helpless hatred.

"Orsino, I am sexually interested in you," one of the other Tranquil informed him impassively within the quarters shared by those cut off from the Fade. "Would you care to fornicate with me?"

The elf glanced up from his paperwork, eyeing the mage woman standing over his desk. She was human and slender, her breasts forming luscious curves beneath her robes. Her skin was slightly tanned from too much time in the Gallow's courtyard. Her hair was black, falling to her shoulders in loose ringlets.

"I possess no interest for you," Orsino replied simply, looking back to his reading.

"Very well," she said indifferently and walked off.

Amongst the Tranquil, the only things that could truly stir reaction was pain and pleasure. If they did not mind their duties and their health as was important, they were beaten. If they completed their work in a timely fashion, they were allowed to fornicate with others of their kind. The Tranquil were not allowed to sleep with anyone who was not Tranquil. Orsino could recite the moral reasons behind this backwards and forwards but for the life of him, he could not feel any passion about it now. He knew that some Tranquil did sleep with various templars and mages, seldom at their own behest- and if he cared, he might have asked his soulless companions about it. He did not care however.

The only thing that struck him as unpleasant was that none of the Tranquil women remotely appealed to him.

There were ugly ones and pretty ones, old ones and young ones, slender ones and curvy ones but none of them interested him. Orsino did want pleasure as obviously, there was nothing else for him to want. Nevertheless, he could not be satisfied with what was offered. Even that human woman in the corner with blond hair, blue eyes and pale skin fell short of some incredibly important standard. He expelled a short sigh. What was the point?

Several hours passed and a young templar knight slipped into the room, approaching Orsino's desk. "You have been summoned, Orsino," he said, grinning widely at the Tranquil mage. "Come with me."

It was not unusual for Tranquil to be herded here and there. Sometimes their abilities were needed in different areas. Orsino rose indifferently and followed the knight. He was led to a small office and told to enter. The young knight turned and left.

Inside, Knight-Commander Meredith sat at her desk with plenty of paperwork of her own. Orsino knew the room well since the office across the hallway had once been his. He remembered the arguments the two of them had indulged in, screaming fits across the hallway or rapidly hissed retorts in one of the offices. He remembered being furious, desperate and scared. He remembered loathing Meredith until she was all he could think about, the only existence he even acknowledged in an endless blur of faces.

None of it mattered now. He saw her and he thought what he had always thought, sans the burden of emotions.

"Good evening, Knight-Commander," he said tonelessly. "You look beautiful."

Her eyes snapped up from her paperwork, an incredulous look on her face. "Who instructed you to spew out compliments?" she demanded flatly. She expelled a short sigh. "No matter. Come closer. Sit down."

He obeyed, seating himself in a chair before her desk and studying her. She seemed more tired than usual, no matter how impeccable her armor and posture. Dark circles rimmed her slightly red eyes and her mouth was pressed into a thin line. Her hair was still golden and fine however, the fair color gently reflecting the light from the braziers behind her. She did not look at him, dipping her quill in a pot of ink and scribbling away at her paper.

"You have been Tranquil for two weeks, Orsino," she began, her voice taut. "Do you have any complaints?"

"Nothing important, Knight Commander," he replied. "Being Tranquil is very peaceful."

"So the name would imply," she said edgily. She wrote a few more sentences before setting down her quill with a click against the desk. She met his empty gaze, her blue eyes glassy and distant. "I killed a child today," she informed him. "A ten year old blood mage. He had learned from his mother, a maleficar apostate. The knight-lieutenant who was with me suggested rehabilitation but I am of the opinion that those who are tainted young will never truly recover. I couldn't have him corrupting the Circle mages."

"You do your duty well, Knight Commander," Orsino praised her without inflection, deciding that she had very elegant eyebrows. Did she pluck stray strands from them in the mornings to make them so neat? Not that it mattered one way or another.

A raw emotion passed briefly over Meredith's face at his words but it disappeared quickly. She sucked in a slow breath. "Of course. You don't care at all now, do you?" she murmured.

"The Rite of Tranquility has relieved me of emotion, Knight Commander," he reminded her. "Based on my memories, I can infer that this conversation would have greatly upset me otherwise."

"Yes," she said softly. "Perhaps you would have convinced me the boy could be saved. First Enchanter Faer barely tried; she is too old and afraid to oppose my decisions. You were afraid too but none of that mattered when a child was in danger. Perhaps…perhaps if you had promised to redeem the child, I would have believed it."

Her blond strands of hair looked soft, shockingly soft when compared to the unyielding steel of her plate mail. When she was done talking to him, she would send him back to that room full of unattractive women and books. Since he could not be embarrassed or afraid, he decided to speak on impulse. "May I touch your hair, Knight Commander?" he asked.

"What?" she asked sharply, clearly baffled.

He repeated himself. "May I touch your hair, Knight Commander?"

"Who told you to say that?" There was anger in her voice now.

"No one," he answered.

"Tell me the truth or I will strike you!" she threatened.

"I was given no instruction on what to say to you," Orsino said honestly.

She stared at him for a long moment before the energy just drained out of her. Her shoulders slumped and she pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "Then why, Maker _why_, do you want to touch my hair? A Tranquil should not want anything."

"It looks soft," he told her, his voice still monotonous.

Her blue eyes were glassy again. "Alright," she said. "You can touch it."

"Thank you, Knight Commander," he said, standing from his chair and circling the desk to her. Carefully, he pulled down her red hood and gathered her shining blond hair behind her neck. The color was so bright and warm that it seemed as though sunlight had escaped the purge of dusk to place its rays down upon Meredith's head. Her hair was as soft as it looked and Orsino ran his long fingers through it, finding more pleasure in this simple action than he could possibly have found in sleeping with the other Tranquil.

Meredith laid her head down upon her desk as he gently caressed her scalp. A choked sound tore from her throat, something rough and anguished.

He could not see how he might have hurt her so he jumped to the next most likely explanation. "Are you ill, Knight Commander?" he inquired.

"No, Orsino," she breathed out, "I have never been better. The most dangerous mage in the Gallows is a mage no more and there is nothing left to stop me from keeping Kirkwall safe. That is why I decided to make you Tranquil. Am I not a logical and righteous servant of the Maker?"

"Of course you are, Meredith," he assured her. He preferred to say her name over her title even if his demotion made familiarity improper. So long as she did not scold him for it, he would use her name, he decided. He continued to stroke her hair, hoping that she would never tell him to stop.

For a long time, neither of them spoke though Meredith's shoulders shook and she did not raise her head from the desk. All was silent in the little office.

"I have heard…rumors, here and there," she told him at last, sounding so tired and old. "Trifling things. You always cared more than I do- Andraste, more than the Tranquil themselves do- if they are abused. Still…well. How do I motivate you?" She inhaled slowly, sitting back up and passing the back of her hand over her face. "If someone attempts to press you into doing them sexual favors, Orsino, you must come tell me their name and what occurred. If you do that for me, I will buy you lemon cakes from High Town."

"Thank you, Knight Commander," Orsino said. "I prefer lemon cakes over most other food."

"I know," she said, standing up and tucking her hair back into her hood. She did not look at him. "Please leave me now. Emotions are a burden you are so very lucky to be rid of."

He looked at her pale, tearstained face and could only agree.

Orsino felt nothing and he preferred it that way.

_(A/N Let me just say this; the Meredith/Orsino stories on are COMPLETE CRAP. Hot-tempered, compassionate, subversive Orsino is portrayed as a cowardly fool who gets raped all the time. Ha, you think he doesn't poison templars when he can get away with it? Zealous, righteous, broken Meredith is portrayed as an amoral egomaniac who enjoys her job. Ha! Didn't anyone listen to her back story? *facepalm* I wrote this to portray them correctly, with the popular scenario of Orsino being turned Tranquil. This is the Meredith who watched her baby sister slaughter seventy innocent people. This is the Orsino who went mad watching young apprentices die over and over, unable to save them- but he TRIED.)_


	2. Delirious

Delirious

The pain was not completely gone. It lingered stubbornly, clinging to the woman's brain even when she could not remember its source. She felt grief for something, an act that had been committed perhaps or a joy that had been lost. She herself was lost now, it seemed, though she didn't know if there was even a place to return to. She drifted, her world dissolving into white smoke whenever she forgot to focus. A pensive sigh escaped her lips. The armor on her shoulders was heavy.

"Good morning, Knight Co- uh, I mean, Ser Stannard," another of her kind said as he passed through the gateway into the hall. He seemed awkward, almost upset as he regarded her. The details of his face faded each time she tried to concentrate on him however and she gave up trying to remember who he was.

She nodded to him, sympathy welling in her heart as he shook himself and hastened away. Every one of them bore such a heavy duty, encased as they were in gleaming steel, swords dyed and re-dyed in blood. She remembered the corpses with acute accuracy, the images so fresh in her mind that she could almost see each crumpled body strewn out before her. Elves and humans, women and children, innocents and criminals all lay slaughtered by her hand. She was so very good at killing them, no matter what they threw at her and no matter how they struggled for their lives. It struck her as tragic. She sighed again, staring blankly up at the sky.

In a few minutes, she forgot what she had been thinking about. The grief became senseless again, a listless melancholy that swirled in the fog.

"Lyrium," she murmured contemplatively under her breath and shifted her stance. She would stand here for two more hours and then her shift would be over. Her feet ached but she paid them no mind; she was quite used to discomfort.

Others passed to and fro through the gates and she let them; none of them were maleficar, so far as she could tell. Most wished her good day, bestowing upon her names and titles she could not grasp. Many of the knights could not meet her eyes, looking uncomfortable and even distressed by her quiet responses. The mages watched her fearfully but there was more in their eyes, a sort of vicious glee that was visible in even the most timid apprentice. They were delighted to be wearing soft, comfortable robes while she upheld the burden of plate mail, no doubt. Mages were frequently petty that way.

When her shift was over, the setting sun had already begun to set the sky ablaze, clouds twisting with vivid reds and golds like so many tongues of flame. The woman followed a knight back to her chambers, a nicely furnished barracks shared with several other templars. She drank lyrium, pushed a fork tiredly through her dinner and stared at the wall. One of the knights near her turned to her with despair in his eyes.

"The blood," he said, grasping her wrist desperately as if trying to reach her through the haze of white smoke. She could almost see his graying hair, the severe lines of his old face and his haunted, glassy eyes. "The blood, ser," he repeated with horror. "It keeps flowing, flowing out- I- I-"

"We must be vigilant," she told him. She did not recall the meaning of her words but regardless, they were the words to be said. She had said them often enough to know that.

The young knight who stood by their door seemed to understand better. He treated them with compassion and respect, reminding them to eat more, reminding them to go and practice weaponry tomorrow morning. Even he walked on eggshells around _her _though, his suggestions almost excessively polite and tentative. She tried to put the boy at ease, smiling warmly in thanks. He only looked more disturbed.

His reaction did not bother her long. It slipped from her mind, lost like everything else. She spent an hour in the baths then returned to her quarters, gratefully placing her plate mail on its stand and relishing the feel of just cloth on her skin. With the lamps blown out and the other knights in their beds around her, she laid down and stared at the ceiling.

She had not yet fallen asleep when the door creaked open. Two women and a man slipped inside, whispering in hushed voices and glancing furtively around them. She struggled to determine if this was odd behavior. Were these people allowed to come sneaking in? Could they be maleficar? A knife was in her hand suddenly. She did not remember having kept a knife with her but there it was, ready to kill.

"Knight Commander Meredith," one of the women said, approaching her hesitantly, her voice a whisper. She had dark hair. "Good evening."

"Yes," said the knight, relaxing slightly. In general, maleficar did not greet others politely.

Dark-Hair fingered a thread at her sleeve. "Are you busy, by any chance?"

The knight sat up in her bed, frowning. "Is there a fight? Do you need protection?"

"Oh no!" the man of their group denied hastily, his smile no less genial and his voice no less hushed. He had a short beard. "Nothing of the sort. We simply wanted to invite you for a drink. In our chambers."

"We are your friends, Knight Commander," Dark-Hair added quickly. "Don't you remember us?"

"I do not," the knight replied, her brow furrowing. She stood slowly, tying a robe on over the simple shift she wore. "My memory is not as good as it used to be."

"Do not fret," Short-Beard assured her eagerly. "We can remind you, talk of old times perhaps…Come with us. You should."

"Very well," the knight obliged quietly. Her knife was gone once more, no longer in her hand, no longer visible. It was dangerous to walk about at night but if anyone tried to accost these people, she was armed. If she lost the dagger, she also knew how to kill with her bare hands. Defending innocents was her duty.

She let them guide her away from the barracks, passed the young knight who stood guard outside the door. He was sleeping on the floor, his head slumped over. She paused to glance at him but her friends had pulled her along before she could do more than see if he was breathing. They were anxious to be away.

They took her to a small chamber, a mage's bedroom she theorized. They closed the door, all expelling tremulous breaths as the lock clicked behind them.

"I can't believe we did that," Short-Beard, grinning at his fellows. He grasped the knight's upper arm in one hand.

"Careful," Dark-Hair hissed. "She is still _Meredith_, even if she's lost her mind to the lyrium. I went to watch her practice yesterday morning, just to be sure. She fights like a demon."

"Like a pride demon," the female knight felt obliged to clarify, "not a desire demon. Plate armor makes seduction impractical."  
>They stared at her blankly. The man had released his grip on her arm.<p>

"She's almost more frightening this way," the second woman mentioned nervously. She had freckles. "Eerie."

"No matter," Short-Beard said, taking the knight's shoulders and steering her down into a chair. "The Knight Commander would never hurt her good friends. Right, Meredith?"

The knight had already forgotten his existence however. Even his beard was not enough to anchor him in her mind and soon enough, the white mist was crawling all over his face, obscuring his existence. She stared at a high point on the wall, contemplating sword work.

Dark-Hair warily reached out then carded her fingers through the knight's hair. "We can't hurt her," she said. "They'll notice. They'll have our heads."  
>"Only if it's visible," the man said darkly.<p>

Warm lips pressed against the knight's mouth and she frowned, jerking her head away. Which one of them had kissed her? She sighed, trying to remember how to handle this sort of situation. "I must concentrate on my duties," she intoned, straining after the words she had said several times to several people in the past. "I do not have time for this sort of thing."

"Yes, you do," the dark-haired woman was saying. "You have more time than you know what to do with now." A dark chuckle escaped her lips. "No more screaming at the First Enchanter, no more executing apostates, no more cutting down the brave souls who dare to shelter our kind." Her breath fell on the knight's ear. "All you do these days is stand guard, like a statue made of ice. You never had a heart and now you don't even have a _mind_." Her palm pressed against the knight's chest, fingers tightly squeezing one breast.

The knight caught her wrist, pushing her firmly away. "I told you no," she repeated lowly, a familiar note of command entering her voice. "Do not make me repeat myself."

"Enough of this," the man interrupted. "You won't convince her to pleasure you, Sangrea. I will cast her mind into her darkest nightmares. _That _will be our vengeance, each night as she wakes screaming!" He raised one palm, dark entropic energy suddenly filling his hands.

"You are _mages,_" the knight hissed.

What occurred next was beyond her control. She stood. She moved. White fire flew from her fingertips, a holy power that drained away all the accursed magic in the room. Bodies were cast away from her, crumpling to the floor or slamming against the wall. The one with freckles screamed, cowering away back into a corner. All of the knight's actions were simple reflexes. Once the mages had been subdued, she stilled. If they evidenced signs of blood magic, she would go in for the kill. It would be easy to snap their necks. Short-Beard was across the room from her now; it would be quicker to kill him by throwing the dagger she had hidden in her robe.

"Attacking knights is against the rules of the Circle," she explained softly to them. "I will have to report this to the Knight Commander."

"You _are _the Knight Commander, you fool!" the dark-haired woman snarled, staggering to her feet. "You're Knight Commander Meredith and you've bathed yourself in our blood a thousand times over and turned your backs as your templars used us like objects! I'll show you how it feels to be helpless!"

"If I was the Knight Commander," the knight reasoned, finding it easier to ignore the hysterical threats and recite memorized lines, "I would have paperwork to do, even at this unholy hour." She sighed, moving towards the door. "If that is all, mages, I bid you good night. I recommend that you refrain from breaking more rules. Enough misdemeanors could result in your being made Tranquil."

The dark haired woman lunged at her back. The knight turned fluidly, driving one fist into the mage's stomach. The one with freckles screamed again, a loud wail as her fellow slumped to the floor.

"Don't hurt her! Monster!"

"Shut up," Short-Beard cried, trying for a moment to summon up magic; sparks scattered uselessly from his palm. "Shut up; if a patrol catches us and sees this, it will be even worse than having her report us!"

Freckles continued to sob. Dark-Hair tried to breathe, gasping on the floor. The lock on the door clicked, magic turning it without a key; the door opened a crack. They all went silent, pale as sheets.

"What sort of ruckus is going on in here?" a weary but pleasant voice questioned.

The knight stepped away from the door so that the newcomer could enter. An elf stepped inside.

"First Enchanter!" the bearded mage faltered, stepping back. "Thank the Maker- we thought you were a templar!"

"There seem to be enough templars in here already," was the reply. "Good evening, Meredith."

The knight turned her head.

Abruptly, all the mist receded and she could see him perfectly- the elegant lines of his face, his high cheekbones and thin mouth. He wore a stoic mask that contained both wariness and pride but there were laugh lines around his eyes, eyes she could recall twinkling when he smiled. His hair was silver and he was in his middle years- but she could remember him younger, when his hair had been brown and his back less rigid. She could feel emotions other than delirious melancholy when she looked at him. There was anger, fear, admiration and desire all waiting within her to be summoned up.

"I have been looking for you," she told him.

"And you got lost on the way," he concluded mildly, his voice incredibly reasonable, "thus entering the quarters of a few Harrowed mages who were startled to be woken so abruptly. That's what happened, isn't it? We don't need to make a fuss over this little misunderstanding. Knight Commander Cullen is so busy already."

"O-of course, First Enchanter," the bearded mage stammered, pulling his dark-haired compatriot to her feet. She slumped against him, still clutching her stomach.

"She almost killed us," the freckled one whispered.

"That's what happens when you mistake a lion for a housecat," the elf said coldly, steel suddenly in his voice. "The next time this happens, I won't waste time distracting the templar patrol for you. I will let them find you, in here with their much beloved and retired leader, attempting who knows what sort of magic and getting hurt for your idiocy."

"But, First Enchanter," Dark-Hair gasped out, "surely we can't just ignore this opportunity. All that she's done to us- all the people she's murdered- how can we let that go?"

The elf regarded her indifferently. "You can let it go because you are not capable of anything else. This botched attempt at subterfuge was nothing short of incompetence." There was darkness in his eyes. "Moreover, Meredith doesn't even remember her own name, Sangrea. You think your pain and hatred mean a thing to her now?"

The mage woman looked down. The elf turned away.

"Come with me, Ser Stannard," he said with precise formality. "I will show you back to your quarters."

"Much obliged," the knight murmured, leaving the three mages behind.

The hallways were shadowed and white fog filled their corners, billowing lazily over the floor and around the knight's ankles. She did not lose her focus this time however as her guide remained steadily in her sight. She had memorized him a thousand times, with fury, with suspicion, with obsession. It seemed distant from her life now but it all came rushing back, an elusive feeling that she could almost grasp.

"You've been avoiding me," she stated quietly, glancing at him in irritation. She could not say exactly how long it had been but she knew he should have been walking through the templar hall, past the very gates she guarded. He should have been in the hallways, chatting with apprentices and answering the questions of templars with short, terse words. He should have been wandering across the courtyard on his way back from the library, his nose in his book and a smudge of ink on his cheek as he pondered over some magical thesis of his. Yet she had not seen him in all this time.

"I have been busy," he informed her quietly, offering her his arm. She took it, her white fingers wrapping around the rich fabric of his robe. "Would you care to hear what I've been doing? Perhaps you will find it as entertaining as I do."

"Yes," the woman said. "Tell me."

The elf rolled his shoulders easily, tugging her a bit closer to him as they walked. "I have spent practically all my time pulling wool over Cullen's eyes. He is much easier to lie to than you were, Meredith. Right under his nose, I managed to frame three templar hunters for the destruction of some phylacteries. Last week, I got Cullen to sign a form that allowed for five extra minutes during Harrowings."

His voice was pleasant, his walk steady as they moved down the corridor. A cold feeling settled in the woman's chest, anxiety crawling along her arms. Her mind hungrily embraced the clarity his presence elicited but with clarity, came a nagging sense of unease. She had not felt this way, surrounded by three mages who wished her ill. She had not felt this way during the fight or even when the dark-haired lass had pressed a kiss to her lips. The knight was obligated to respond to this elf's words; her duty as a templar of the Order screamed at her to react. She did not remember how.

"I have been altering his records whenever I get the chance," the elf continued intimately, casually spilling out his secrets. "Little things he won't notice, of course. It did not take me long at all to realize he does not meticulously run through them the way you did. Corresponding with my apostate friends is easier these days as well. One of them is conducting some fascinating research." He leaned close to her, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. "I've never even heard of blood magic being used so creatively-"

"That's wrong," the woman interjected sharply. She released his arm, stepping away from him. He caught her elbow, pulling her close again. She stopped walking, meeting his eyes. "I have to report this."

"Report what, Meredith?" the elf questioned softly, placing a long-fingered hand on her cheek.

"That you have been…" She trailed off, struggling to recall his words. He had been listing out his plots and schemes, confessing everything to her as though she was his dearest confidante. It was of the utmost importance that the Knight Commander be informed. "Lying," she finished.

"Lying," the elf repeated mildly. He put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her along down the hallway. They turned a corner, the distant sound of metal footsteps reaching the woman's ears. "What have I been lying about, Meredith? I have told you nothing but the truth."

Anger welled in her suddenly, fierce and familiar as it burned at the fog around her thoughts. "You're enjoying this," she asserted, her voice a low snarl.

"Am I?" he murmured. He pulled her suddenly into a nearby room, shutting the door behind them. The lock clicked without the use of a key. All she could see was shadows and the faint outline of his face. He moved closer to her, embracing her, pressing his face into her neck. "When they told me you had gone mad, I truly thought that I would. Oh, Meredith…" His voice broke with a quiet sob.

His long, pointed ear was inches from her lips. She felt desire curl within her, decades of suppressed lust surfacing from within her body. She had always held back before, she was certain. She could not recall the reason. "Are you a mage?" she asked suddenly.

"No, of course not," the elf shushed her and pressed his mouth to hers.

The next morning, she forgot who he was. She did her duties. She guarded the gate. In the evening, he found her again and he baited her. The cycle continued, over and over again as the months went by. Every time her thoughts descended into mist, she saw the elf's green eyes become a little more dead.

"Good news, Meredith. A group of mages were going to be executed so I helped them escape the Circle."

And the next night, his body over hers.

"Do you remember my name, Meredith?"

And again, as he greeted her with a kiss.

"Meredith, I'm poisoning Knight Commander Cullen. Only small doses, you see. It needs to look like a natural illness. He should be dead by next spring."

Or as he pulled her into the room, towards his desk.

"Meredith, this grimoire is full of blood magic spells! Want to see?"

And finally.

"Look, Meredith, I'm doing blood magic!"

"Meredith, please…"

...

"Please."

* * *

><p><em>(AN I'm not sure this one came together as well. Lyrium madness is apparently hard to do. Oh well. This is why Orsino and Meredith had to die on the same day. If one of them loses their marbles, the other one is close behind. ^^)_


End file.
